Change of Command
by Ante Down
Summary: The Flying Dutchman has to be run according to The Rules. Missing scene from At World's End, so spoilers. Will be a twoshot. Bootstrap POV, Will POV. Now complete.
1. Part of the Crew

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N: **Normally I don't write for this fandom, but I saw At World's End and really couldn't resist. The style was intentional- poor Bootstrap, he really lost it.

**Part of the Crew**

Oh god his son his son his son. Dead. Dead, dead, dead. His son. Dead. Elizabeth sobbing. His son. Dead.

The Captain. The Captain had done it. The Captain had killed his son. Killed his son and now he was dead and his woman was sobbing over his dead body.

And now he was feeling mutinous and mutinous was the word and he was attacking the Captain because the Captain had killed his son.

But all of a sudden the Captain was dead. Dead. He could feel it. Part of the crew, part of the ship. The ship had no captain. He could feel the vacancy. All the crew could feel the vacancy. They were coming.

It wasn't Sparrow who killed the Captain. Not Sparrow. His son. His son. The Captain had killed his son and now his son had killed the Captain. His son would be the Captain. The mast was coming down and the ship was sinking but that didn't matter because the ship needed a Captain.

His knife was stuck in the railing. Where Will had stuck it. He could use it. Had to use it. Will had to be the Captain and he wouldn't live but he would be. The sword protruded from his son's chest and his body was already cold from the rain and the wind. Sparrow was dragging Elizabeth away and the crew was coming with the chest and the ship was sinking. But nobody could do anything because they needed a Captain. The Captain.

Part of the crew part of the ship and the ship _had_ to have a Captain.

As the Dutchman went under he made the first cut. Jagged; a maelstrom was no place for this sort of delicate work. His son would always have a scar there.

Always would be a very long time for him.

Oh god. Elizabeth. Will should have chosen Elizabeth. Now Will would lose Elizabeth because what woman could love a man she could only see one day every ten years.

But it didn't matter; couldn't matter because part of the crew part of the ship and the ship needed a Captain. He who kills the Captain must replace him. Those were the rules. The rules.

He did his best not to think about Elizabeth as he continued to carve his son's heart out.

And then he was holding it in his hands, his son's heart: the Captain's heart. He could do it, stab that heart, save Will from eternity at sea. He owed Will. Will could be with Elizabeth for always in fifty years, instead of five times in the next fifty years and then not again until he himself passed on. Nobody could guarantee that he would, either.

Except he _couldn't_ stab the heart because then his son would be dead and dead for good. And that was that. Instead, he placed Will's heart into the chest and pressed the key into Will's palm.

There was light filtering down from above, and in that light he could see that Will's eyes were open. He didn't gasp or even draw breath- they were underwater after all- and of course he had no pulse but he was back and that was what mattered.

As a father, he was ecstatic that his son wasn't dead, but on another level he was happy because part of the crew, part of the ship and the ship had a Captain again. He could see that Will understood this too, as he tied a bandanna around his forehead, tucked the key into his boot and walked to the wheel.

Will gave the command to surface and they did. Captain's orders. And it was even more than that, he realised as the ship broke the surface. The Captain had a purpose. The ship was no longer corrupt. The crew was returning to human form. Already the barnacles had faded and the starfish was peeling loose. And the insanity was ebbing.

The rules were being followed. If it wasn't all right now, then he felt, for the first time in a long time, that things might eventually be all right.


	2. Part of the Ship

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/N: **This completes my two-shot, though I'll probably write more for the fandom. I have a piece on Elizabeth in progress at the moment. It may even be up tomorrow. But onto the fic.

**Part of the Ship**

The pain as the sword had entered his heart had been instantaneous and white hot, a marked contrast to the cold air around him. It radiated from the metal, and he could feel his blood pooling inside him, in places blood was never meant to go.

He could not ignore the pain. Even when Elizabeth leaned over him, sobbing, begging for him to respond, he could not tell her that he loved her, would always love her, and would see her again someday. He could not even keep his eyes open.

He was losing consciousness- losing his life- drifting in and out of awareness. He could feel Elizabeth's warmth by his side, her breath on his face, the sword pinning him to the deck, a hand on his wrist, the rain on his body, a sword handle in his palm.

Then he could feel nothing, but hear wind and waves and Elizabeth screaming and his last thought was that he wished she didn't have to see him die.

"For what we want most, there is a price must be paid in the end."

What? Calypso? What was she doing here? He was _dead_. And he was fairly sure that the sea goddess shouldn't be showing up in his afterlife. In fact, from what he'd seen, the afterlife for those lost at sea was either to be pulled along under an invisible current, or to sail there in a dinghy.

"The price is hard to pay, William Turner."

He snapped back into something resembling full awareness. It couldn't be _real_ awareness; he was dead. He was standing on the deck of the Flying Dutchman, no land in sight, and the sun setting on the horizon.

He was also alone.

"Hello? Are you there? Calypso?" he called out.

"I am here, William Turner," came a voice from behind him. He spun round and there was Calypso, looking just as she had when bound as Tia Dalma. "I have a gift for you."

Still very confused, Will replied, "Thank you."

"Here," she said, and held out a square of faded cloth. "Your mamma gave that to you when you but a boy. Then you lost it to the sea. Now the sea give it back."

He looked from the bandanna back to Calypso. "Why?"

"A mark of my favour, William Turner. Nothing more."

She turned to leave. He moved towards her. "Wait- Calypso. Am I dead?"

Calypso smiled at him. "Yes. And no. You are Captain now. Your heart been cut out. Your daddy put it in the chest and give you the key."

"The Captain? Me? But…Jack had the heart. He had his sword. He would not have given immortality up for me." He was still confused. Things weren't making any _sense_.

If possible, Calypso smiled wider. "Witty Jack be more complicated than most," she told him, and he found he had to agree.

"He put his sword in my hand, didn't he? And moved my hand to stab the heart." He could remember that someone had grabbed his wrist. It hadn't been Elizabeth. She'd been on his other side.

Calypso just nodded.

"But…why?"

"Witty Jack is too like me in some ways. He not meant to be bound. He know that. He know he would end like Davy Jones, like you tell him."

"So I have to be the ferryman now." Will was slowly realising that she was telling the truth. He was not dead, and there was only one way that could be so.

"The Dutchman must have a captain."

His still-present confusion turned to anger. "Why? Why must that be so? I did not choose this."

It was perhaps fortunate for him that Calypso seemed to be in a charitable mood now. "You go back, William Turner. You understand when you go back," was all she said.

He could vaguely feel the way back, but he hesitated in taking it. It would mean that he accepted this insane curse and the job that went with it.

"Elizabeth need you, William. Even witty Jack need you. Else you would not have this choice. They need you." With that, Calypso vanished as suddenly as he appeared. Her words settled the issue for Will. He owed Jack his life, in a fashion, and certainly owed him for taking the opportunity he had wanted.

And Elizabeth needed him. First and foremost, Elizabeth needed him. This time, he did not hesitate to return truly to the land of the living.

He woke to find the ship- his ship now, he supposed- underwater. Time to test if this could possibly be real. He didn't breathe.

He didn't seem to need to.

Then he looked down at his chest. There was a gaping wound there, still open, but closing even as he watched. After ten seconds or so it was just a long, jagged red scar. He could feel the absence of his heart quite clearly, he found. His blood still moved through his veins, but nothing pumped it. It quite literally flowed.

A crew member was holding the chest. He spared it only a glance. The key was in his hand. He stowed it in his boot. Time to think of the arrangements later. He tied the bandanna he'd been given around his forehead. It was a gift from his mother, and then from Calypso. He should wear it.

Time to take action. He walked to the helm. The crew were still just standing there. Will sighed internally. Seemed the Dutchman needed a captain just to get the crew moving.

But as he thought about it, he realised that the ship really did need a captain. There was a binding. The centre of it was where his heart used to be. It was beyond words. "The Flying Dutchman must have a captain." He had been told that by enough people that he accepted it as truth. Calypso had said he would understand when he went back. He did, much to his surprise.

She had also said he was needed. So he gave the order to surface. He would fight Beckett and the East India Trading Company.

As the ship rushed towards the surface, he swore he could hear Calypso's voice, whispering in his ear.

"_A touch of destiny."_


End file.
